


The Valkyrie

by IvyLili



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25509328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyLili/pseuds/IvyLili
Summary: Wigfrid's adventure in a strange land.
Kudos: 5





	1. Es war einmal

_There's something wrong._ Wigfrid thought. _Something's... just... not right._

She had no reason to complain, she knew it clearly. She was a promising young soprano at the opera house, and one day she will be the most beloved Valkyrie of the stage.

Her life was set, her dreams were in place.

Yet she felt that something was wrong, when she tried to get into her role. _Is this how the story happened?_ A voice in her heart kept asking, _is this how you remember it?_

Wigfrid felt confused. _What am I supposed to remember?_

\----------

One day a voice spoke to her from the radio, which she definitely remembered turning off.

_Come with me._

Wigfrid looked at the radio in surprise.

 _... Show yourself!_ She shouted, trying hard to keep her voice from trembling.

_Come with me, and you will be whole. You will find what you search._

Wigfrid took a deep breath. _What do you want?_

 _You are valiant, fair shield maiden._ The voice from the radio laughed. _You just need to prove yourself worthy..._

She stared at the radio. Smoke was coming out from its loudspeaker – no, not smoke, but shadows; they twisted and turned, forming a pair of thin black hands, stretching out and grabbing her, making her hard to breath...

There was a knock at her door.

_... Sister? Are you all right?_

_Oh no. Winnie. She must not see this. She must not know this. It might hurt her..._

_... I just... fell off the chair._ She struggled hard against the shadow hands, _it's just... a sprain. Go... find... a doctor; it'll be... all right..._

Her vision blurred into darkness.

\----------

When Wigfrid woke up, she was lying on a meadow. She saw a tall man standing in front of her.

_Say pal, you don't look so good. You better find something to eat before night comes._

Wigfrid recognized that voice at once. It was the one from her radio. Yet the man disappeared before she could ask him anything.  
 _What happened? Where am I? What is this all about?_

She stood up and looked down at herself. The nightdress she was wearing when she passed out was gone; instead she was wearing her Valkyrie costume at the opera house. The helmet and spear were somewhat heavier and harder, and felt more like real ones.

_You just need to prove yourself worthy._

She bit her lips and gripped her spear firmly.

_... I accept the challenge._

_\----------_

_It seems that,_ Wigfrid thought, _time works in a different way here._

The moon waxed and waned faster than it used to, and the weather changed rapidly.

She went through all four seasons within about only seventy days.

Not a single person was to be found in this wilderness; and most of the creatures she saw there were totally different from the normal ones she used to see before.

She often had to fight for her life; yet strangely, fighting and killing her enemies gave her strength and some sort of pleasure as well; and another soul, which had been dormant for centuries, was waking up inside her, becoming a part of her.

She was no longer only Wigfrid the young soprano; she was also Wathgrithr, the fierce and brave Valkyrie.  
  
Wigfrid had settled down near the seemingly endless sea. She made herself a fire pit, a tent, a pot to cook food, some racks for drying meat and a few other necessities.

She went out hunting every morning and brought the preys back to her settling place when the sun set.

She was surprised – even a little scared – to find herself beginning to call this settling place her "home".

 _Does it mean that I'll never go back?_ Wigfrid asked herself.

Yet what more surprising was that she did not miss the world she used to live in that much. The memory of the city where she grew up, the memory of the opera house, the memory of her friends, of her family, her father, mother and Winnie were so vague that when she tried to recall everything in her past, it felt like looking through a thick mist.

No, it was not that she had amnesia; her memory still worked, but her feeling was somehow getting numb. It seemed that the bound between her and the world was loosened, if not completely cut.

And this made her feel so... alone.


	2. Auf einem Baum drei Raben stolz

Wathgrithr had no fear for death; for she was a Valkyrie, an immortal goddess of war who took the souls of fallen warriors to Valhalla. In her world of gods and heroes, death was not the end, but simply the beginning of another life and another battle.

But Wigfrid was a human, and humans are not immortal. Death was still a dark secret to her.

And she still couldn’t help herself from a shiver when she saw a skeleton lying on the ground while walking through the wilderness.  
That skeleton was holding a spear in its hand; Wigfird could imagine how the poor lone wanderer fell in a hopeless battle against the beasts here. _His – or her – spirit should be in Valhalla now..._

The cry of a raven swept across the air.

Oh ravens. Wigfrid sighed; they were almost the most common creature in this strange world. Perhaps it was because they feasted on dead bodies, which this place was never short of.

Suddenly an ice-cold thought stroke her.

_Is this... what will become of me?_

A ditty about ravens and a dead knight she once heard came to her mind. Yet in that song the _spirit_ of the knight was not mentioned, not even a little; it was only said that his body was eaten away by those ravens, leaving only pale bones behind –

_\----------_

_Mony a one for him makes mane,_

_But nane sall ken where he is gane;_

_Oer his white banes, when they are bare,_

_The wind sall blawfor evermair._

_\- The Twa Corbies_

_\----------_

_Would I be missed when I cease to be? Would anyone weep for me? My father? Mother? Winnie?_

_Or maybe I am already considered dead in that world where I used to be..._

The thoughts lingered in her mind and made her feel... angry.

Wigfrid stuck the spear exasperatedly into the dried soil. _What AM I doing here? Dead to the known world and completely alone... Without love, without care, without even a face to say hello to..._

She knelt down on the ground and burst into tears. _Why do you do this to me? ... And who is this “you”?!_

 _Already scared?_ A familiar, low voice whispered in her ear. _Is that what a shieldmaiden would do?_

 _Stop calling me a shieldmaiden! I am only... an ordinary girl..._ She wanted to scream, but instead she slowly stood up and wiped away the tears from her face.

 _No._ Wigfrid – or maybe it was Wathgrithr - said firmly. _The fight is not yet over. Just come at me and bring all your skill into play; you’ll see that I’ll never surrender._


	3. Ich zôch mir einen valken

Wigfrid found a spider den while out hunting one morning. It was large and looked dangerous, yet she knew that she could clear it up and get many things she needed from it.

She just needed to tread on the web around it carefully and lure the creatures out…

\----------

The sudden loud hissing sound from the other side of the den surprised her. _The spiders shouldn’t be out at this time of the day!_

She walked cautiously around the den. Those spiders were engaged in an intense fight against one of those huge, one-eyed birds, which apparently had accidentally trod on their web. The bird, although big and fierce, was no match to such a swarm of spiders. It was torn to pieces and dragged into the den by the retreating spiders.

Wigfrid rushed out from the thicket where she had been hiding; she lured the spiders out one by one and swiftly eliminated them, then gathered her booty and began to leave.

\----------

Suddenly she saw a bird nest with an egg in it; it belonged obviously to that bird which was just killed by the spiders.

Wigfrid slowly walked to the nest. _The defenseless little thing will surely freeze in the night, if not eaten by other creatures passing by..._

She picked the egg up and put it into her backpack. She did not consider herself to be a very sympathetic person, yet she felt that she could not leave that unborn bird to its fate.

\----------

Wigfrid took the egg back to her “home” and began to take care of it. She put it in her backpack to prevent it from overheating or being eaten by beasts during the day, and put it near the fire to keep it warm during the night. It was a work that required patience, yet it made her feel somewhat happy, listening to the slight cracking sound from the egg. _The tiny warrior is fighting its way out,_ she thought with a smile on her face.

\----------

Several days later the egg finally cracked open. A small black ball of fluff popped out and chirped at her. Its tiny wings flapped clumsily.  
 _Oh my, it’s lovely._ Wigfrid took the little bird in her arms. _And it looks so fragile..._

The small bird chirped again and looked up at her.

_What do you want, little one?_

The only answer she got was another chirp, a little anxious this time.

_Are you... hungry?_

She took a cluster of berries; the bird pecked at them and finished them up quickly. Then it rubbed its head contentedly and lovingly on her chest.

_It... trusts me..._

She slowly stroked its soft feathers.

_... Thank you, little one._

\----------

Day by day the fluffy little bird grew up. It followed Wigfrid everywhere and, much to her surprise and delight, helped her with hunting, just like the falcons tamed by the knights and ladies in those story books.

She still called it “my little one”, although it was now almost taller than her; she was used to this lovely nickname, and she believed that her bird was used to it as well.

The bird was always willing to dash into battles and to fight the preys or enemies with its sharp beak, as if it knew neither fear nor pain. It did excellently in hunting rabbits and birds; one day it even helped her finishing off a wild dog that was trying to attack her. Its right leg was wounded in that battle; so Wigfrid wrapped its wound up with a bandage she made herself.

 _Does it hurt?_ She asked, tying the bandage in a knot.

The bird chirped softly as an answer.

 _Come my little one,_ she patted it tenderly as it curled up beside her near the fire, _you need to rest. Everything will be fine..._

The slight snore of the bird made her feel at ease and somewhat happy.

It was good to have a companion, after all.

\----------

_I brought up a falcon for more than a year._

_When I had him tamed as I wanted_

_And when I had adorned his feathers with gold,_

_He raised himself up high and flew to another land._

_\- Falkenlied_

\----------

Everything was fine – yet only for a while.

The wild nature in the bird was emerging: it was more and more often hungry and sometimes even pecked Wigfrid if it didn’t get enough food.

And finally one day, the bird didn’t follow her back when they finished hunting.

Wigfrid had a strange feeling of melancholy.

Her little one’s gone... And she was now all alone again.

\----------

Yet several days later she caught a glimpse of a large, one-eyed black bird guarding its nest and egg while walking through the woods.  
On its right leg there was a bandage, and she recognized the knot at once.

The bird turned around and saw her. It let out a brisk chirp, as if seeing an old friend.

Wigfrid smiled. _It’s really nice meeting you here, my little one..._


	4. Uns ist in alten Mæren

Wigfrid was chasing a goat when she ran into that strange place one afternoon.

There was a carpet on the marble floor, and some broken marble pillars stood scattered around.

_Is this... an abandoned temple?_

Suddenly she felt a spasm of pain in her left shoulder; she looked up and saw a man – no, a robot made of iron – staring at her with a lifeless glass eye. A light ball came from its forehead and flew toward her.

Wigfrid dodged; the light ball brushed barely past her back. She raised her spear and dashed to the robot, not noticing that an iron horse that had been lying in the near was standing up –

\----------

It was already dusk when the fight was finally over.

The robot and the iron horse were now piles of gears and metal pieces. Wigfrid stood leaning against a marble pillar, panting heavily; the wounds on her arms and left shoulder were bleeding. Fighting against lifeless machines made her more exhausted than ever before.  
There's not enough time to go back now... maybe I'll have to stay here overnight, she thought.

She rubbed some self-made healing salve onto the wounds and bound them up. Then she cleaned the floor, got rid of the strange-looking flowers which made her feel somehow dizzy and made a fire.

\----------

Wigfrid sat down beside the fire and took out a piece of dried meat. She ate slowly and looked absent-mindedly around.

The night was dark and silent. There was neither moon nor star in the pitch-dark sky, and the only sound she could hear was the crackling of the fire.

And she saw, through the flickering flame, a figure on the top of a pillar.

Wigfrid grabbed her spear and jumped up at once; then she realized that it was actually a statue made of stone and slowly lowered the weapon.

The statue's head was missing; yet its hands, though weathered, were holding a harp, as if still playing a tune.

_Is... that... really..._

Wigfrid felt a lump in her throat.

The Valkyrie inside her, along with the entire memory, was now fully awake.

Those songs she had been singing at the opera house deceived her.

Richard Wagner, the playwright she almost worshiped at that time, deceived her.

\----------

_...Then the brave one they seized; to the warriors bold_

_No chance was there left to delay his fate longer;_

_Loud did Hogni laugh, all the sons of day heard him,_

_So valiant he was that well he could suffer._

_A harp Gunnar seized, with his toes he smote it_

_So well did he strike that the women all wept,_

_And the men, when clear they heard it, lamented;_

_Full noble was his song, the rafters burst asunder._

_Then the heroes died ere the day was yet come;_

_Their fame did they leave ever lofty to live._

_\- Edda, Atlamol En Grönlenzku_

\----------

The bold king of the Burgundians was never a coward, and his silent brother was never a traitor. They remained valiant and loyal to each other until the end, and gave their lives proudly for their honour and the fortune of their homeland.

The last song, which the unfortunate king played on the harp, echoed in Wigfrid's ears.

The language was old and completely strange to her, yet she had no difficulty in understanding it, as if she had known it all her life.

It was a song about fierce battles and brave warriors, about joy and love, about agony and death, about glory and fame, and about the beloved homeland far, far away.

It was a lament for the era of the heroes; and no matter how hard the people afterwards tried to search or imitate that long-lost era, it could never come back.

For they all lived in a world after the Ragnarök, where the gods and the heroes were gone, and all that was left were nothing but shattered fragments of their memories.

\----------

Wigfrid raised her hand and wiped the tears off her cheek. A shield maiden should never weep.

Yet her heart was so full of both sorrow and peace that she almost could not control herself.

She knew that she would never be alone again; the memory of the legend and the memory of the song would accompany her in every day to come.

She smiled and looked up at the statue.

The first rays of the morning sun had appeared in the east, painting the sky red and gilding the silhouette of the lofty figure.

 _I shall be on my way now,_ Wigfrid whispered, _but I will be back..._

\----------

She came back to this place three days later; this time with a bunch of butterflies.

With them she planted a ring of flowers around the statue; they waved slightly in the soft breeze and gave a sweet elegant fragrance.  
These lovely gifts from Froh and Freia would make a good tribute, Wigfrid thought.

Doing this made her feel content. She even found herself humming – no, not the dramatic arias that she used to sing as a soprano, but a simple, mild, lullaby-like tune.

Although the future for her in this world was still quite unknown, at least she had found what she had been looking for – a place where her mind would be at peace.


End file.
